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“AND CEDRIC GREW WHITE AS HE STOOD WAITING FOR HAL 




7-A ’Wi 


r 


•• - e>rr.- 




TO REACH HIM 


Pa^'e 8 


Cedric the Saxon 


BY 

HARRIET T. CO/ASTOCK 



NEW YORK 

THO/nAS WHITTAKER 

2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE 

u . 


THE LIBHARV OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Cowt6 RtCEtvED 

AUG. 22 1901 


Copyright entry 
CLASS 49U XXc. N«. 


COPY 8. 



Copyright 

igoi 

h 

Thomas Whittaker 


C C < 
‘‘C<‘ 


« « € 






CEDRIC THE SAXON 


CHAPTER I 

The book fell unheeded from my hand. 
The firelight flickered through the gathering 
gloom, and, with a sigh of content, I sank 
back in my easy-chair, and, in imagination, 
lived among the heroes about whom I had 
been reading in the old time-stained history. 

From the shadowy comers savage sea- 
kings loomed flerce and terrible. Loyal 
knights in shining armor passed before me, 
the points of their glittering spears flashed 
in my eyes, and their war-cry sounded in 
my ears. 

Pious monks, too, followed in their wake 
—monks who fed the poor, prayed for the 
erring and soothed the dying, and yet when 


2 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


duty called went out to battle, undaunted 
and undismayed, even when they knew de- 
feat was sure. 

From all the conflict and misery of that 
far-away time, the story of little Saxon 
Cedric shines out like a star amid billows 
of darkest clouds. 

In the quiet and comfort of my cosy room, 
I seem to feel the clasp of his slender Angers 
on mine — those little fingers so willing to 
soothe and comfort — and they seem to draw 
me back into the almost forgotten time, to 
wander with him over the rough and dan- 
gerous paths where his painful steps once 
patiently wandered. 

I follow you as best I may, dear, faithful 
little lad, and, although my eyes are dim at 
the memory of your trials and sorrows, I 
smile with joy at the thought that you, too, 
fought a brave, good fight, and gained a 
glorious victory. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


3 


I see him first as he stood, one autumn 
morning, by the gates of a beautiful old 
monastery in Lincolnshire, England. A long 
gray mantle covered his slender form, and 
trailed upon the gay autumn leaves which 
strewed the ground. The hood of the mantle 
fell away from his golden head like a vapor, 
leaving his delicate face exposed in the full 
light of that glorious day. 

The mantle belonged to Brother Ambrose, 
whose duty it was to stand at the gate 
during certain hours of the day, and give 
directions to travellers, or to admit any who 
needed food and shelter. 

Now, Brother Ambrose was a dwarf, and 
very old. He was not always as even-tem- 
pered as one could desire, and this gate duty 
was not to his taste. He better liked to 
stroll away with Thomas, the gardener, and 
gossip of the past, that wonderful past 
about which they spoke in whispers ; and so 


4 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


he often threw his mantle over the willing 
shoulders of little Cedric, who was almost 
as tall as he, while he wandered away to 
enjoy life after his own fashion. 

“Folks shouldn’t roam at large unless 
they know their whereabouts,” he used to 
mutter, gruffly. “To keep a body busy just 
telling them their mistakes is a crying shame, 
say I. And as for the hungry, bah! They 
know the way all too well to the Abbey 
kitchen. Empty stomachs are keen guides.” 

Any one, from a distance, seeing the gray 
mantle at the gates, might reasonably sup- 
pose that Ambrose was doing his duty. The 
occasional traveller who sought directions 
took them from the beautiful boy unques- 
tioningly, and the more frequent villager who 
came for charity was only too glad to en- 
counter Cedric instead of Brother Ambrose. 
The old dwarf was too sharp for them, 
his questions often sent them shamefacedly 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


5 


away, while Cedric’s smile was ever ready, 
and his voice full of generous welcome. 

So no real harm was done, and the privi- 
lege meant very much to the child. Was 
there not always the chance of Hal the Fleet- 
foot coming to beg? 

To be sure, he never came unless direct 
necessity drove him there, for Hal was a 
wild rover, and cared not for quiet, orderly 
ways. But he was only twelve years old, 
and hunger was a cruel companion, and 
when it pressed too near, Hal fled to the 
monastery, knowing that there he would 
find food and drink, with a possible dainty 
saved from Cedric’s more delicate fare. And 
Cedric was not to be despised, either, when 
more exciting society failed. 

WTio heard his wild tales with more ab- 
sorbing interest than Cedric? And who gave 
so fully the flattering adoration for which 
his untamed nature craved? And if Cedric 


6 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


had that attraction for Hal, what can be 
said of the devouring longing with which 
the lonely child of the monastery watched 
and waited day by day for his wild friend? 

Hal knew all the news for miles around. 
Nothing ever escaped his eye or ear. He was 
everywhere, knew every one, and belonged to 
none. No one was as fleet as he to carry 
the news abroad. He was a bitter foe and 
a loyal friend, honest, courageous, and full of 
fun, like a wild animal in many ways, but 
tender-hearted withal. 

To the fathers he was a source of doubt 
and interest; to Cedric he was little less than 
a wonder. He had not been to the monas- 
tery now for many days, and Cedric was 
getting anxious. 

“Is he not hungry enough to come to- 
day?” he murmured, peering eagerly down 
the rugged path. “Six whole days! I sup- 
pose it is because the nuts are beginning to 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


7 


ripen. I never did like the autumn.’’ And 
then the little boy stepped outside the gate 
to get a further view. 

As he did so, it appeared that he was 
lame, the left foot dragged slightly behind 
the other. 

He listened for Hal’s well-known whistle. 
Hal never came showing the pangs of hunger 
that were clutching at his vitals, but always 
with a cheery, happy air, as of one idly 
passing that way. 

But Cedric heard no welcome trill, and 
was about to turn wearily away, when a 
sudden sharp crackling of the dry leaves 
caused him to look in the opposite direction. 

From the depths of the forest came Hal, 
his loose clothing fluttering in rags about 
him, and his long, dark hair blowing around 
his face. He ran lightly forward. It was 
not hunger that showed in his thin features 
now; it was fear, deadly fear, and Cedric 


8 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


grew white as he stood waiting for Hal to 
reach him. The panting boy gained his side, 
and dropped on the leaves at his feet. 

For a moment Hal could not speak, and 
with strange, unchildlike patience, Cedric 
smoothed the tangled hair upon his damp 
brow and whispered, gently: ^Toor dear 
Hal, how weary thou art!” 

With terror-filled eyes Hal gazed into the 
tender face above him, then he gasped : ‘‘Get 
thee down close to me. I have news indeed. 
Quick, quick, there is but a little time!” 

Cedric pressed beside him, the golden head 
and the rough black one side by side. 

“The Danes!” hissed Hal, “with awful 
Hubba at their head. They have destroyed 
Bardney; every father was slain. No one 
warned them, they were surprised just at 
vespers. Then the Danes crossed Witham — 
they are marching this way. Go thee, tell 
Father Tolius— he used to fight — he has not 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


9 


forgotten. I will go to the castle ” Here 

Hal’s voice failed him, but his great eyes 
blazed feverishly. 

‘‘Yes! yes!” whispered Cedric, his low voice 
vibrating with fear. “The Earl of Algar will 
save us, he is brave and strong. Go, go, 
Hal dear; but first eat. See, I have bread 
and cake for thee, here behind the vines, and 
wine, too, Hal. See, I have saved them for 
four days. Thou hast been so very long!” 

The starving boy snatched the food and 
drink and devoured them, then sprang up 
and darted on. For a moment Cedric 
watched him, half dazed; then he turned, 
and, as quickly as he could, for his lameness 
held him back, ran through the park to the 
monastery. 


CHAPTER II 


As Cedric ran limpinglj on, he heard the 
bell tolling for vespers, and through the still 
autumn air there floated the sound of the 
low- voiced chant, as the fathers marched 
with bowed heads down the shadowy nave. 
Father Tolius, a monk who had once been a 
famous warrior, stood by the altar, his calm, 
saintly face gleaming in the pale light. 

The massive doors of the abbey stood 
open, and at last Cedric reached them and 
ran in: ‘‘Father, father!” he shrieked, with 
his eyes flxed on Father Tolius, “the Danes I 
They have crossed the river I They are com- 
ing here! Hal Fleetfoot has gone to the 

castle ” the words ended in a broken sob, 

and Cedric sank exhausted upon the stone 
floor. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


11 


No one heeded him, for in an instant all 
was wild confusion. Each man understood 
the import of Cedric’s terrified words, and 
from every side an agonized cry went up: 
‘‘The Danes! The Danes!” Over the face of 
Father Tolius a change came. The meek 
eyes blazed, the pale cheek fiushed, he threw 
back his splendid head, and his blood rushed 
through his veins as it used to in the years 
gone by. Suddenly his voice rang out like a 
blast: “In the name of God, who follows me?” 

“I! I! I!” came in wild chorus, and the 
shouting monks pressed around him. 

Cedric listened to the tumult like one in a 
dream. Strange orders were given, and hur- 
ried questions asked. Then came a mad rush 
from the chapel. The bell tolled solemnly on, 
for the ringer was deaf and blind and knew 
not that the old order of things was 
changed. But he alone thought of holy 
things; aU the others were eager to follow 


12 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


their brave leader, and to defend with their 
lives the faith, and their beloved abbey. 

Cedric followed the last of the monks out, 
and for hours, while the excitement waxed 
higher and higher, he crouched in a deep 
window-seat of a long gallery and trembled 
with terror. 

Early in the evening two officers arrived 
with a message from the Earl of Algar. 
They said that the inhabitants of the village 
had been aroused by Hal, and that they were 
ready to join forces with the monks and 
fight bravely to the end. Then a great cheer 
went up! 

Cedric stood in his dark corner and shouted 
for Hal, his dear, brave Hal, who had come 
in time to save them all! For who could 
withstand the fierce earl and Father Tolius, 
and all the strong villagers? Surely, the 
Danes would be driven back, and taught a 
terrible lesson. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


13 


Fear fled from Cedric’s heart, and pride 
filled it. Oh! if he were only old enough to 
go and follow Father Tolius I But he could 
be patient and lend his aid. So he left his 
window comer and helped the others polish 
the shields and axes. He ran his slim white 
fingers over the glittering spear points, and 
laughed aloud as he saw how sharp they 
were. 4 

At last the preparations were finished ; all 
who could fight were gone; the beautiful 
abbey was left to the older fathers, and a 
few younger ones who could defend them 
and the sacred treasures should need arise. 

How quiet and strange it was! Cedric 
wandered about the deserted passages, and 
wondered what Hal was doing out in the 
dark night among those fierce, wild men. 

Finally, he strolled into the library. This 
was a magnificent room and contained the 
largest and rarest collection of books in 


14 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


England. It was a room that Cedric loved, 
hut now the dim, shadowy outlines filled 
him with awe. 

At the farther end by a fire of blazing logs, 
he saw the old prior sitting. His head was 
bowed upon his worn hand, and Cedric knew 
that he was lost in sorrowful thoughts. 
There was a great love between these two, 
and so now, quite fearlessly, Cedric went 
down the long room, and laid a gentle hand 
upon the father’s arm. 

‘T am lonely,” he faltered, ‘‘and afraid — 
may I sit by thee?” 

The grave face turned toward him. “I, 
too, am lonely, my son, but not afraid, for 
the Lord of Hosts is my God ! Come, child, 
sit thou upon my knee, thou hast no mother 
to still thy fears. Poor little lad !” And the 
kind eyes beamed softly into the trusting 
blue ones raised to meet their gaze. 

“Thou art like thy mother, Cedric,” the 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


15 


old voice went on; ‘‘she was a saintly 
woman.” 

“Didst thou know my mother, father? 
Oh, tell me of her I” broke in the eager voice. 
Through all his uneventful childhood, Cedric 
had never questioned his past. He could not 
remember another home, nor other love than 
that which the good fathers had given him, 
and he had been very happy. But now all 
was changed. The air was full of mystery 
and doubt, and he seemed a part of it all; 
he began to think, and question. “Who was 
my mother, father, and where is she now?” 

“She was the noblest lady in all England, 
and the most beautiful. She was the Lady 
Mary Devon !” The silvered head bent rever- 
ently. “Thy father, Earl Devon, child, was 
a warrior, and died upon the field defending 
his king. When thy mother was left alone, 
she remembered me— she knew that she could 
trust me. One night— it was upon a Christ- 


16 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


mas Eve — as I sat here among my books 
alone, I raised my eyes, and down the long 
room I saw — a vision! A woman with a 
white, sad face came toward me, bearing in 
her arms a young, young child. I thought 
I dreamed, and that the Holy Ones were 
with me on Their night. I stood up with 
outstretched arms, awaiting a blessing. And 
then I felt a warm, soft burden on my hands, 
and that dear, long-lost voice said : ‘All else 
is taken; I, too, must go. For the sake of 

the past ’ ” here the old father drew in a 

sharp breath, and Cedric started at the sud- 
den pause; when the quivering voice took 
up the tale, there was a new note in it. 

“She felt that thy affliction”— the boy 
flushed — “would unfit thee for following in 
thy father’s ways, and she besought me to 
train thee for the holy life; to prepare thee 
to do battle with unseen foes of passion and 
desire. Not all battles are fought behind 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


17 


shields, my son— there are others which must 
be fought with bared heart and spearless 
hand. She gave me this jewelled ring that 
night. I have worn it next my heart, until 
now.’’ The father drew the glittering circlet 
forth, hung on a slender chain, and dropped 
it upon Cedric’s neck. 

^‘Wear it from now until thy death, dear 
child, in remembrance of her— and me. I 
have loved thee, Cedric, how well only Grod 
can know. It was a blessing indeed thy 
mother brought to me that Christmas Eve. 
Tell me that, when temptations arise, thou 
wilt forget thyself and do thy duty, and so 
gain the victory through our Blessed Lord?” 

The boy slipped from the prior’s knee, and, 
standing before the fire with uplifted hand, 
said, solemnly: ‘Tn that time, father, will I 
remember thee and my mother.” The golden 
head bent low, and the silvered one bending 

above it pressed against it with tenderness. 

2 


18 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


Suddenly a low whistle startled them. 
But it was a familiar sound to Cedric. He 
turned joyfully around, and in the far corner 
discerned the form of Hal Fleetfoot. Cedric 
ran eagerly to him and dragged him to the 
prior’s chair. 

Hal dropped his eyes in reverence, and 
shuffled his feet restlessly. But all differences 
of station were forgotten in that terrible 
hour. 

‘‘What news, Hal? Speak up!” said the 
prior ; he leaned toward the ragged boy and 
scanned his face by the fire’s glow. 

“They are ready,” answered the tired 
young voice; “they are waiting for the day- 
light. The Danes are not far off— they know 
not that the alarm has been given.” Then 
the boy’s fine eyes blazed proudly. “They 
will not slay us as they did the others at 
Lindsay and Bardney — I got here in time!” 

“Yes, yes!” murmured the prior. “Thou 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 19 

didst indeed. Thou art a brave and loyal 
lad, Hal. Gro, Cedric, take him and give him 
of the best. He needs it sorely. And then 
show him to a good bed. Forget your fears, 
children ; remember that there is One greater 
than all these foes— and He is watching un- 
ceasingly.’’ 

After the meal— and it was a royal meal— 
the boys strolled away to a turret chamber, 
and for hours talked, as boys will, of their 
longings and hopes. The deeds of bravery 
which they would aiccomplish, the courage 
which they would show, and of the glorious 
victories which were to crown their every 
act. 

‘‘See,” whispered Cedric, showing Hal the 
sparkling ring hung about his neck. “’Twas 
my mother’s! The prior hath given it to 
me. I doubt not, Hal, but that it is a talis- 
man; mayhap I have but to wish, and my 
desire will come. List!” Cedric rose to his 


20 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


feet, and stood in the pale moonlight with 
uplifted face. “I wish that I might be brave 
as my father, and as strong, so that I might 
follow the earl!” 

The moonbeams shone on the upturned 
face, the golden token lay on the outstretched 
palm, and the waiting boys breathed quickly. 
But no miracle came. Cedric sank down 
among the shadows and Hal crept to his 
side. 

^‘They will not fight until the daylight,” 
he said, after a long, eloquent pause, going 
to the little window and peering out into 
the silent moonlit night. ‘‘And I tell thee, 
Cedric, our side will lay them low.” Then 
the fierce young voice sank in awe. “I, too, 
shall fight. Yes, I will go out at break of 
day. When the battle begins I shall take a 
shield and spear from some dead Dane, and 
I will show them all what Hal the Fleetfoot 
can do. And after the battle, Cedric, the 



“I WISH THAT I MIGHT BE BRAVE AS MY FATHER, AND AS 
STRONG, SO THAT I MIGHT FOLLOW THE EARL.” 


Page 20 



CEDRIC THE SAXON 


21 


earl himself will give me such trophies as 
thou hast never seen in thy life. For they 
say that the Danes are laden with jewels 
and gold, and we shall have them all!” 

‘‘Oh!” murmured Cedric, “how mighty 
thou art, Hal I I could never be afraid near 
thee. Take me with thee, dear, dear Hal — 
let me fight, too; I will be so brave!” 

“Take thee!” laughed Hal. “What could^st 
thou do, poor lad, with thy lame leg? War- 
riors are not made of such as thou.” 

The pale face fiushed painfully, and the 
large eyes filled with tears, but Hal noticed 
not. 

“I could help,” quivered the mild voice. 
“I could bring water to the wounded, and 
stay behind by the dying. They might not 
feel so lonely if even a little boy was near.” 

Hal put his arm about the slender figure 
beside him. Something in his rough nature 
stirred at the brave words; he clasped the 


22 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


little fingers, and said: ‘‘I believe thou hast 
the stoutest heart among us all. We can 
neither of us fight. I am but a boastful lout. 
But I tell thee what, Cedric, I know of a 
hiding-place, near where the battle is like to 
be; I will take thee thither, and there will 
we hide, and we may see it all!” 

Cedric grasped the stronger hand. “How 
good thou art!” he whispered. 

And so they nestled down together on the 
bed, and, because they were children, they 
fell peacefully asleep, while their elders nei- 
ther slumbered nor slept — with the knowl- 
edge of what the awful hours held in store 
for them. 


CHAPTER III 


Just at the breaking of the gray dawn, 
Hal awoke. “Come,” he breathed into Ced- 
ric’s ear, “we must be up and away!” 

Cedric started violently. He had been 
dreaming of his mother, the mother whom 
he never knew — but in his dream he had seen 
her quite clearly. She was beautiful ais the 
holy Mother, and she had held him in her 
arms, and whispered to him of her love. 
And so it was with a cruel start that he 
awoke to the realizing sense of the chill 
mom and of Hal’s firm clutch upon his arm, 
and all that they implied. His teeth chat- 
tered and his lips grew blue. 

“Thou art afraid!” Hal laughed softly. 
“Thou canst remain here, I need thee not!” 

“I am not afraid!” replied Cedric, with 


24 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


flashing eyes; and then, softly: “I could 
never be afraid, dear Hal, if thou wert 
near.’’ 

They had saved some cakes from their 
evening meal, and, after eating these, they 
stole forth hand in hand. Hal was a true 
child of the woods, and ran lightly on, drag- 
ging Cedric after him. It was a painful 
journey to the lame boy. He often had to 
set his teeth to keep back the moan which 
rose to his lips. Yet not for his life would 
he have admitted his misery, and, in his 
thoughtless boyhood, good-natured Hal 
strode on unconscious of the suffering that 
his little comrade was so bravely enduring. 

At last the hiding-place was reached. It 
was a slightly elevated bit of ground, covered 
with thick underbrush. The boys sank 
down among the sedges and branches, and, 
after a moment’s rest, leaned over and peered 
down upon the plain below. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


25 


Nothing broke the stillness of the early 
morn. 

“Where are they?” whispered Cedric, a 
disappointed pain filling his heart. 

“In hiding,” Hal whispered back. “Who 
knows so well as the earl and Father Tolius 
the best places? But look, look!” he sud- 
denly ejaculated, “there!” pointing off into 
the distance. 

Cedric looked, and saw a dim moving 
mass. It appeared like a cloud of dust driven 
before a strong wind. 

Just then the sun broke forth, and some- 
thing in that strange mass caught the re- 
fiection, and glittered. 

“The shields of the Danes!” Hal cried, 
in hoarse tones, and Cedric clung to his 
hand. In silence they strained their eyes 
and watched. 

The mass grew in size as it drew nearer. 
As the boys gazed, the body of advancing 


26 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


men seemed to part, one division going to 
the left, and the smaller of the two hasten- 
ing forward. 

On, on they came. Evidently they ex- 
pected no resistance, and advanced fearlessly. 

Cedric’s breath came short and heavy, and 
Hal’s strong young body quivered with ex- 
citement. Suddenly the bushes below began 
to move; and cautiously from out the hiding- 
places broke the forces of the Earl of Algar 
and Father Tolius. 

From that moment time and place were 
blotted out for the two watchers among the 
sedges. 

The resistance of the Saxons was indeed 
unlooked for. The Danes had separated 
from their greater numbers, and the contest 
which followed was sharp and fierce. 

^‘Ah! the earl, the earl!” cried Hal, as the 
battle went on. ‘‘Look thee, Cedric, how 
the earl forces them back!” 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


27 


Almost fainting, Cedric rose to his feet, 
and just then Father Tolius, with his fol- 
lowers, bore down upon the confused Danes. 
Back, back they pressed, pursued by their 
maddened foes. 

“It is glorious! glorious!” cried Cedric, 
in gasping tones, and waving his thin hands 
above his head. 

The flashing of the steel, and the crashing 
of metal against metal fllled the space below. 
At one time the Danes, gaining a new cour- 
age, would fling themselves upon the enemy: 
but the next, with cries of rage, the Saxons 
would fling them back. All day the battle 
waged, and as the darkness fell the boys, 
worn from excitement and loss of food, 
started back to the abbey. 

But almost at the start Cedric fell fainting. 
There was but one thing to do; taking the 
slight, unconscious form in his arms, Hal 
staggered along through the gathering shad- 


2S 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


ows, the awful war-cries ringing in his ears. 

He realized for the first, as he stumbled 
with his burden over the long, rough way, 
that he should not have taken Cedric with- 
out permission, and his fear of the father’s 
anger made him tremble. 

Yet not for a moment did he think of 
shielding himself. Wild and uncared for as 
his boyhood had been, something had taught 
Hal the Fleetfoot to be manly and brave 
and to despise meanness in any form. 

It was very dark when he at last tottered 
into the monastery gates. Not heeding the 
voice of Brother Ambrose, he went on to the 
doors of the abbey. These were guarded by 
two young monks, and the old prior stood 
anxiously within. 

‘‘’Tis Cedric,” cried Hal, as he drew near. 
“I took him to watch the battle. ’Twas 
no fault of his, father, ’twas mine alone.” 

The prior came forward, and, in his own 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


29 


'weak arms, took the unconscious boy. Then 
he looked sternly into Hal’s wild, dark face. 
Perhaps, as he looked, some memory of his 
long-past boyhood stirred him, for his gaze 
grew softer. 

^Toor lad!” he murmured, ‘T blame thee 
not— such deeds are the deeds of youth. Go, 
get food, but first tell us, how goes the day? 
Kumor hath it that the Lord of Hosts pre- 
vails.” 

The fire sprang into Hal’s weary eyes. 
‘‘Nay, nay!” he cried; “but the earl and our 
Father Tolius have won the day!” 

All that night the handful of monks in the 
abbey watched and waited. Cedric tossed 
and moaned, and only Hal slept through 
the troubled hours. And out on the dark 
field of battle the Saxons stood their hard- 
earaed ground, keeping in check the infuri- 
ated Danes. But toward daylight, the divi- 
sion which had separated from the smaller 


30 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


body the day before was called back, 
and the opposing force was now formi- 
dable. At daybreak the battle again broke 
forth. 

And what could a thousand men do 
against such a mass as now bore down 
upon them? 

Hubba, the fierce sea-king, led the forces 
of the Danes. The brave Saxons fiinched 
not. They formed in a figure that was 
shaped like a triangle. The Earl of Algar 
and his well-drilled men took the centre. 
The right angle was guarded by Father 
Tolius and the monks ; the left by the sheriflf 
and villagers. They planted their shields so 
closely together that they touched ; they held 
their strong spears pointed outward, and, 
standing so, they awaited the attack. 

The first shock was terrible, but it broke 
not their lines. The angered Danes could 
not get near enough to use their battle-axes. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


31 


for that bristling forest of steel seemed in- 
vincible. 

As the day wore on, a mist gathered upon 
the desolate moors, and in its dim gloom the 
battle waged unceasingly. Evening came, 
and the Danes, wearied with the long re- 
sistance, made another attack, after which 
they wheeled about, feigning defeat. The 
Saxons were deceived and started in pursuit. 
In vain did Algar shout his commands for 
his men to stand firm. In vain did Father 
Tolius, in the names of all the saints whom 
they adored, urge his little band to remain. 
In the wild excitement all was lost. There 
was naught to do, but for the father and 
Algar, with the few who would listen, to 
stand side by side and fight the unequal 
fight, and this they did, until, in the gray 
mists of thq,t chill September night, they fell 
on the dreary moor and were trampled by 
the victorious Danes. 


CHAPTER IV 

It was the hour of Matins, and the old 
prior said that they who watched must be 
faithful also. So, with his little band, he 
stood in the beautiful chapel and chanted the 
solemn mass. 

Cedric was beside him, pale and wan, and 
near by stood Hal, longing to be out in the 
thick of the fray, yet not daring to disobey 
the prior, who had forbidden any one leaving 
the grounds. 

While they stood chanting the solemn 
music, two Saxon youths of the village, who 
had escaped the horrible massacre, rushed 
in. They were blood-stained and haggard, 
and, falling at the prior’s feet, moaned out 
that they alone had escaped, and besought 
him to defend the abbey, if possible, at once. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


33 


The anthem ceased. The arm of the aged 
prior was raised in command ; and his voice, 
weak, yet powerful in its patient fearless- 
ness, rang out: 

‘‘Hear me, my children! Our time for ac- 
tion has come at last. It hath found us 
ready I Bear away the sacred relics, the ves- 
sels of gold and silver and the precious 
jewels. Take all that is possible for ye to 
carry. Bury them in the marshes, or sink 
them in the lake. As for me^’— and his fine 
old face glowed in holy faith — “I will remain 
with the children, and, by the mercy of 
God, the foe may take pity upon us and 
spare us!’’ 

Hal and Cedric clung to him in wild terror. 
The younger monks sprang to do his bid- 
ding; all that could be so hastily gathered 
was taken across the lake and buried on the 
Island of Thoms. It was a tedious and 

wearisome task. All day they labored, go- 
3 


34 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


ing to and fro. Each time they returned 
they expected to find the Danes had de- 
scended upon the abbey ; but the foe waited. 
Finally, at nightfall, all that was possible, 
or safe to carry, had been taken. The great 
doors of the monastery were secured, and 
the young monks hid themselves in rooms 
above the entrances, prepared to hurl over 
any available missile upon which they 
could lay hands, when the doors were at- 
tacked. 

The old prior and the frightened boys 
stood alone in the chapel. Through the 
windows, they saw the red glow beyond, 
and they knew that the village had been 
fired, and that the Danes must be hurrying 
toward the abbey. 

Suddenly, on the quiet night came the 
shouts of the advancing horde. Then came 
the tramp of horses over the rustling leaves. 
And the waiting three saw the banner of 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 35 

the Danes, on which was depicted the dusky 
raven. 

The whole mass of brutish men came on 
with deep, threatening curses; they pressed 
against the doors, and battered them with 
spears and axes. But the strong doors 
yielded not to the first attack. Then the 
monks overhead threw down on the mad- 
dened mob stones, spears, shields, anything 
which they could seize, and this added to 
the fury of the Danes. 

With renewed vigor they hammered on the 
doors ; and at last these gave way, and, with 
frightful yells of triumph, the foe rushed in. 

The prior drew the children closer. No 
fear shone in his gleaming eyes as he gazed 
tenderly into Cedric’s face. ^'Sing,” he com- 
manded, “sing to Him who alone can give 
the victory over death!” Then, with an up- 
ward glance, he murmured: “I commend my 
soul to Thee!” 


36 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


The pitiful childish voices broke into a 
hymn, and presently the old prior’s voice 
joined theirs, and rang bravely out above 
the tumult. He stood at the foot of the 
altar in his long robes, when the doors were 
broken down. On, on came the crazed lead- 
ers, but the little group at the foot of the 
steps sang on. 

Hubba rushed toward them, his awful axe 
held aloft. The singing made his brain reel. 
‘‘Silence!” he yelled, and with one sweep 
hewed the father down, and the children fell 
over him. 

Then did Hal Fleetfoot do the last deed 
of his life — and may yours and mine be as 
noble and unselfish. He rolled over, cover- 
ing Cedric’s body with his own, and with 
upturned face, which did not quiver, he took 
the blow which was aimed at the little 
golden head! 


( 





HUBBA RUSHED 'I'OWAKD 'I'HEM, HIS AWFUL AXE HELD ALOFl. 






CHAPTER V 


Cedric gazed in horror, expecting that the 
next blow would fall upon him. The weight 
of Hal’s body oppressed him ; lights flashed 
before him, and the shouts of the flendish 
men stunned his senses. 

The man who had struck at him, and had 
killed poor Hal, turned away, diverted from 
his work of slaughter by the sight of some 
treasure. 

As he turned, another blood-stained face 
bent over, and, seeing that Cedric lived, the 
man raised his axe to flnish the work the 
other had left undone. 

Cedric’s eyes widened in horror. What 
was it in the man’s ferocious nature that 
was touched by the innocent, appealing face? 


38 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


But, as he looked, his hand dropped at his 
side, and his breath came short and thick. 
He pushed Hal’s body aside with his heavy 
foot, and, bending down, lifted Cedric up. 

They were alone for the instant, for the 
rush for booty had taken place. Taking off 
his cassock, the sea-king threw it over the 
boy. ^‘Quit not my side for a moment,” he 
muttered, and Cedric clung to him. 

The search for the richest treasures was 
in vain, for they were already buried, and 
guarded on the other side of the lake. Ced- 
ric feared each moment that he might 
be questioned, and a new terror seized 
him. 

But in their fierce anger and disappoint- 
ment, they noticed him not. At last, worn 
out with their fruitless efforts, and thinking 
that all were killed, the savages set fire to 
the abbey, and prepared to march away, 
taking with them the cattle, and the lesser 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


39 


articles of value, which the monks had been 
unable to hide. 

Cedric turned, as he was being dragged 
away, and looked at the burning monastery. 
It had been his only home. Among the 
flaming ruins lay, stilled forever, the hearts 
which had loved and cared for him. He 
knew not where he was going or what was 
to befall him, and fear and exhaustion over- 
came all other sensations. A heavy sob es- 
caped him, and he stumbled as he blindly 
struggled on. The man who held him bent 
and lifted him in his strong arms. “Thou 
art weary,’’ he whispered in a gruff voice. 

“Yes,” trembled Cedric, “and my leg hurts, 
father.” 

The familiar title fell unconsciously from 
the child’s lips, but it struck strangely on 
the ears of the man who bore him. He 
seemed to ponder, his steps slackened, and 
his breath came hard. 


40 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


Cedric gained courage as the minutes 
slipped by. The mighty arms held him 
firmly, the warmth of the strong body com- 
forted him, a sense of safety stilled his trem- 
bling, and he fell asleep. 

He dreamed of the terrors through which 
he had passed; again and again he started 
feverishly. Dimly he was conscious of a 
voice saying: ‘‘Hush thee, hush thee; sleep 
in peace”; but it all seemed part of the 
troubled dream. 

He saw the old prior and dear, brave Hal. 
How nobly they had died! He, alone, was 
left to mourn and suffer. Suddenly, he 
awoke. How long he had slept he knew not. 
The great forest was dim and filled with 
weird shouts. He was lying under a tree, 
and a fierce man stood over him. Then he 
remembered the awful reality. Perhaps his 
time had come, and, alone out there under 
the darkness, he was to die. He raised his 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


41 


head in an agony of terror; the man, who 
stood near, smiled grimly. 

^‘Thou art but a poor thing,” he said, in 
a deep voice. ‘‘How old art thou?” 

“I am ten,” whispered Cedric, and the ef- 
fort of speaking made him faint. 

“Here, drink!” and a flask was held to his 
lips. He swallowed and revived. 

“Thou art kind,” he smiled up into the 
dark face. 

“’Twere better to crush the life out of 
thee,” said the man, “than to let thee live — 
such a weak, pitiful thing! What canst 
thou do but suffer and cry and faint?” 

“I know not,” sobbed the child. “I am a 
poor lame boy; but I used to help.” 

After a silence, the gruff voice spoke again, 
but a new tone caused Cedric to turn. 

“I have a little lad at home. Strong and 
brave is he, but he hath a great tenderness 
for all things weak and small. He would 


42 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


defend thee, and for his sake I will spare thj 
life. Go not alone near the others, they 
would murder thee, and — I bid thee call me 
—father; it hath a sound of home.’^ The 
heavy voice broke, and a deep sigh passed 
out into the night. 

Cedric put out his hand and stroked the 
foot of the man who had saved him. 

Again they started on, Olaf, for such was 
the man’s name, carrying the boy. 

But Cedric did not sleep. With returning 
strength the full horror of his position swept 
over him. A keen pain shot through his 
heart, and his blood surged. 

What a pitiful thing he was, to lie there 
in the arms of one who had helped to slay 
all who had been near and dear to him ! 

Ah, why was he not strong and brave as 
Hal had been? He and Olaf were alone; if 
he were only big, he could perhaps kill this 
man and so get back to the burning abbey 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


43 


and the few monks, who, perchance, had 
been spared. 

The blood of his warrior father rose to his 
brain. Never had he felt hatred before. He 
clenched his hands together and wildly struck 
the breast of the giant. 

‘‘Art uncomfortable? Here, lie higher,’^ 
said the deep voice. Then such a sudden 
sense of his smallness and weakness came 
over the boy, that he shuddered, and sting- 
ing tears filled his eyes. It was of no use. 
He could never be brave or do a noble deed. 
He must be carried away like the cattle, and 
not even struggle. 

Poor little lonely fellow ! He had the heart 
of a warrior in the body of a weak child. 
With a groan, he sank in Olaf’s arms, and 
grew sick with shame. 


CHAPTER VI 


Hours slipped by unheeded by Cedric, but 
at last, strong as Olaf was, he grew weary 
and he put his burden down. The boy 
opened his eyes and saw that he had been 
placed beside a pool. It was still dark, and, 
by the faint glimmer of the moon, he saw 
Olaf soaking some bread in wine. 

Presently he brought it to him and pressed 
it against his lips. ^^Eat, if thou canst,” he 
said, ‘‘too long hast thou fasted.” 

Cedric tried to swallow the bread, but 
could not. “Let me die,” he murmured. “I 
care not to live, and I am but a burden to 
thee.” 

“Nay, nay,” answered the gruff voice; 
“say not so. Live for me; thou hast become 


a comfort.” 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


45 


Something in the hard voice touched Ced- 
ric’s warm heart, and again he tried, and 
succeeded in swallowing the crust. In a 
short time he felt stronger, but they rested 
beside the pool all that night, and when 
they took up the march, Cedric walked be- 
side Olaf. So they travelled on, very slowly,, 
often resting, and almost forgetting how far 
in advance the Danes were. Those were 
strange days to Cedric. Into his life came 
a new knowledge. He found that goodness 
and unselfishness were to be found even 
among the foe, and that a warm heart may 
lie under a rough exterior. To him, who 
had seen goodness only in its mildest, gen- 
tlest form, this knowledge came as a deep 
surprise, and awakened his keenest interest. 
In the days and nights that followed the 
boy learned to love and cling to the fierce 
Dane. Sometimes he even forgot that Olaf 
was fierce, and they grew quite friendly. 


46 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


To divert him from the shock and sorrow, 
Olaf taught the boy to shoot straight and 
strong. Once Cedric provided, unaided, the 
evening meal. As they sat over it Olaf grew 
boisterous. 

‘^Oh, but thou art a fierce warrior!” he 
laughed, and the forest echoed the mighty 
sound. “Thou didst bring the bird down 
like an old hunter I” Then he feigned a great 
fear, and opened his big eyes wider. “I dare 
not sleep, so greatly do I mistrust thee. 
Thou mightest aim at me, to revenge thy 
wrongs 1” 

Cedric dropped the morsel which he had 
raised to his lips, and replied, gravely: “For 
that did I learn, for I hated thee; but I have 
grown to love thee now, and I will spare 
thee for the little son!”' 

The gleam died out of the mocking eyes. 
“Thou wouldst make Thor tremble,” he 
muttered, with a half-hearted laugh. “Dost 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


47 


know the story of Thor? The little lad at 
home likes it well.’^ 

Cedric shook his head. He longed to ask 
Olaf to permit him to go back alone to the 
deserted home, but even in his softened 
mood Cedric dared not put the ques- 
tion. 

‘‘Tell me the story, he said, drearily ; “per- 
haps I, too, will like it.’’ 

“It may affright thee,” Olaf went on, look- 
ing teasingly at his little companion; “thou 
mightest even faint from fear.” 

Cedric winced. “I will not,” he pleaded; 
“I am stronger now, father.” 

“Well, then, Thor is a great war god and 
all his sons are warriors. He lives in the 
far North amid the snow and ice, where no 
man’s foot hath trod. His throne is upon 
an iceberg, and when he walks abroad the 
world trembles and the people down here 
think the earth quakes.” 


48 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


^^Dost thou speak truly?” asked Cedric, his 
eyes opening in interest. 

“Aye, surely. And he has a great red 
beard, and when he shakes his head, the 
beard floats on the north wind, and the 
earth-folk think they see the northern lights.” 

“Does this Thor often leave his icy home?” 
questioned Cedric. 

“Nay, nay I” and again the lusty laugh 
rang out; “that is the same question the 
other lad asked when flrst he heard the tale. 
Thor will not trouble thee, poor stripling.” 
Then, after a pause: 

“Be strong in spirit, though thy body be but frail. 

Might conquers all things. It is a trusty shield. ” 

“It is nothing,” Cedric replied, dreamily. 
“Love conquers all in the end. As thou 
slept last night I watched before thee, and 
thy knife lay by thy side. I took it up and 
saw how sharp it was, and then I remem- 
bered thy evil deeds, and a great strengtli 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


49 


came to me; I was about to plunge the 
blade in thy heart, when I remembered thy 
goodness to me because of thy love for thine 
own little lad. I dropped the glittering steel 
and prayed for thee instead. It was love, 
father, that saved thee. The old prior said 
that it would yet save the world. 

Olaf sprang to his feet, and for a moment 
bent his troubled eyes upon the pale, crippled 
child. Then he swore a great oath, and, 
bending low, took the slim white fingers in 
his own. 

‘‘He and thou shall share alike; I, Olaf, 
swear it to thee, thou mighty one!” 

A great silence fell upon them as Olaf 
ceased speaking, broken only by a distant 
shout of the now far-oAT horde. 

They lay down together under Olaf’s cas- 
sock, no fear in either heart ; they had learned 
to trust each other upon that fourth night 

of solitary travel. 

4 


50 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


‘‘Where are we going?’’ asked Cedric, to- 
ward morning. 

“To Huntingdon,” came the sleepy reply. 
All the softness and change of the night was 
gone. Olaf was to all appearances the gruff 
sea-king once more. 

Cedric knew that the Danes meant to 
attack the monastery at Huntingdon, and 
his soul sickened. There was no Hal Fleet- 
foot to warn the monks now, and he who 
would have saved them if he could lay shel- 
tered beneath the cassock of the foe! 

Again the horror of himself and the man 
beside him overpowered him, and he shook 
in helpless passion. Olaf was looking at 
him in a strange, wondering manner. 

“Art afraid?” he whispered. “I’ll hide thee 
from harm.” 

“Nay, nay,” came the . quick reply. “I 
think of them !” 

A shadow flitted across the stern face. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


51 


‘‘List!” said the deep voice. “I dreamed of 
the little lad last night. This is to be our 
last day of conflict. Thou and I will go to 
him — after to-day; but I have a score to 
settle with Hubba ere I go, an old, old 

wrong. But after that ” and a strange 

light came to the hard face, “thou and I 
will go home, and thou shalt teach him of 
that courage that thou alone dost know. 
Come!” 

At the end of another day they reached 
Huntingdon. Against the evening sky they 
saw the red glow which showed that the 
deadly work was going on. 

Olaf muttered a curse under his breath. 
He had loitered by the way for Cedric’s 
sake; now, for the first, he realized what 
the delay had cost him. With dark looks 
he hunted about for a hiding-place for Cedric, 
ere he went to settle the ancient wrong with 
Hubba. 


52 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


At last he found a cave-like place under an 
overhanging rock, before which clustered a 
forest of thick underbrush. Weak, and half 
dead with loathing, Cedric crouched down 
in the shelter. Olaf left the wine and some 
crusts of bread with him, and the rare gems 
and gold that he usually carried hidden under 
his own clothing. 

Then, wrapping the heavy cassock about 
the shivering boy, without one backward 
glance he strode away, walking like one 
who had cast aside a wearisome and un- 
accustomed burden. Cedric watched the 
mighty figure vanish into the gloom. He 
heard the distant yells of the heathen horde, 
and saw the red glow against the dark- 
ening sky. Then such a loneliness of soul 
and body fell upon him as he had never 
known before, even in the past week of 
torture. 

He seemed to be alone in God’s universe 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


53 


with those demons of cruelty and barbarism. 
Olaf alone had stood between him and cer- 
tain death, and now Olaf was gone. He 
looked up into the solemn night; the old 
familiar stars shone overhead, but how dis- 
tant and unfriendly they looked! He tried 
to think of the safe beauty of the nights 
which seemed so far in the past — the nights 
when he and the old prior had paced the 
paths of the beautiful monastery garden. 
But the peaceful memory would not stay; 
in its place came ever the memory of the 
massacre, and of that silver head laid low 
at the altar steps. Sobs shook the boy’s 
frame, and deadly fear clutched at his heart. 

He tried to pray, but the roars of the 
tyrants bewildered him. He stood up and, 
flinging his arms above his head, he cried 
aloud for help. His brain reeled and he 
laughed and wept in delirious terror. Finally 
unconsciousness came to his relief, and he 


54 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


sank down among the costly treasure of 
gold and jewels, and forgot his misery. 

The hours dragged on, but Cedric heeded 
not. The silence in the cave was sometimes 
broken by a faint moan, and once or twice 
the little hand was outstretched, as if the 
faithful heart remembered its duty ; but that 
was all. 

As the gray morn began to break, Cedric 
awoke. He was chilled and cramped, but a 
strange thing had happened. No longer did 
fear and weakness fill him. He was calm, 
and almost happy. He knew it not, but 
God had strengthened him for his day of 
battle. He dipped the crusts of bread in the 
wine, as he had seen Olaf do, and ate them 
eagerly— then he looked forth into the forest. 
The glare was still reddening the sky, the 
shouting was distinct, but not as loud. He 
knew that the Danes were gathering the 
plunder. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


55 


While he stood listening and watching, he 
heard a rustling of the dead leaves, and 
shrank back. Two ejes of fire gleamed at 
him, and from the bushes there sprang a 
lean wolf. For a moment they gazed at each 
other, and then, with brute instinct, the 
wolf darted past him and made for the 
smoking abbey, knowing that he would fare 
better there. Cedric shivered, and drew 
the cassock about him. Another rustling 
startled him. He breathed shorter, and his 
eyes widened. Then he heard his name. He 
listened; again it came: ^‘Cedric! Cedric!’^ 

Could it be Olaf’s voice that fell on his 
ear? He leaned out of the opening and 
paused. 

‘^Help! help!” came the weak cry. 

Cedric limped out now quite fearlessly. 
‘^Father, where art thou?” 

‘‘Here!” And, looking under the bushes 
a few yards away, Cedric saw Olaf creeping 


56 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


toward him on his hands and knees, often 
falling forward on his face. He was ghastly 
pale and his clothing was torn and blood- 
stained. 

The child knelt down beside the wounded 
Dane and drew the shaggy head to his 
breast. “Go no further,’^ he pleaded, in 
strong, tender tones. “I have yet some 
wine and bread — I will get them.’’ 

“No, no!” moaned the man. “Leave me 
not. I have crept here to die. The way 
was long and hard; but thou wast alone- 
poor little lad! 

“I found Hubba” — the voice grew thick 
and slow. “That wrong is settled; but— 
we’ll never get to that little lad now. 
And thou, child, what wilt thou do 
alone?” 

“I am not afraid, father.” Cedric smoothed 
the matted hair from the damp brow with 
gentle touch. He was doing what he had 








ffTil 



LEAN CLOSER, FATHER. SEE, I WILL PUT MY ARMS ABOUT THEE. I AM STRONG. 





CEDRIC THE SAXON 


57 


told Hal he could do: helping the wounded, 
and making the dying feel less lonely. 

‘‘Lean closer, father,” he whispered. “See, 
I will put my arms about thee. I am 
strong.” 

For a moment there was silence; then: 
“Canst thou sing, child? They sing as they 
die, these holy ones. Their courage is not 
mine. Canst thou sing to me?” 

Ah, now indeed had Cedric been asked to 
do something that he could do. No fear of 
foe or wild animal knew he then. His clear 
voice rang out right gloriously in a chant 
of victory. It thrilled through the awaken- 
ing light like the voice of an angel. The 
wild man who lay a-dying gazed in rapt 
wonder, while Cedric, with white face up- 
lifted to the flushing sky, sang on and on. 

The chant ceased; the weak voice gasped 
his name, then said, hoarsely : “They thought 
that I remained with thee to get the hidden 


68 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


treasure at Croysland. They thought me a 
traitor ; but I went only to find Hubba, and 
I left him out yonder among the ruins — but 
he dealt me this blow, and now what wilt 
thou do?’’ 

fear them not,” said the boyish voice. 

Olaf ’s head sank heavier on the little shoul- 
der. “Think not of the treasure should they 

find thee; but this ” and he weakly drew 

a curious ring from his finger, “if thou canst 
in the future, find our— my little lad, give it 
to him — it was his mother’s, and — ^let him 
learn of thee — tell him, love, love, will con- 
quer when all else fails. Sing, sing!” 

The sweet voice fioated out. Birds ceased 
their matins to listen in wonder, and, while 
the words of triumph filled the air, the soul 
of Olaf went forth into greater light, led by 
the instinct which had guided him to spare 
a helpless child, and to learn of him. 

Cedric bent and kissed the dead face. It 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


59 


was not horrible to him. He had seen death 
in such hideous forms, that the passing of 
Olaf seemed almost beautiful. 

And the kiss which fell on the cold cheek 
might have been dropped there by the little 
Danish son, so full of love and tenderness 
was it— a touching tribute to the dead man’s 
deed of pity. 


CHAPTER yil 


The silence was soon broken by trium- 
phant yells. Three fierce Danes had tracked 
Olaf by the blood-stains, and had come to 
avenge their leader’s death. 

They were giants of strength and height, 
but they fell back when they saw Cedric 
holding the dead Olaf. They probably 
thought that, after using the boy as a guide 
to the Croysland treasure, Olaf had killed 
him. To see him sitting there, pale and fear- 
less, was a surprising sight indeed. 

Then one of them laughed a brutal laugh. 
‘‘’Tis a great find we have here !” he shouted. 
“Not only Olaf and his plunder, but the 
white lad from Croysland, alive, and, I 
doubt me not, able to talk to others beside 
Olaf if it be made worth his while.” 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


61 


Oedrie flinched not. He was his father’s 
son now. His bodily weakness was as 
nau:ght beside the lion heart. He gazed 
into the three hard faces without a quiverj 
and the laugh died from their lips. 

‘‘The treasure,” cried one. 

Cedric pointed to the hiding-place. “He 
needs it no more,” said the gentle voice; 
“nor do I. Take it.” 

One went in and dragged out the gems 
which Cedric had guarded. “The other?” 
asked the second voice, and the man plunged 
his hand roughly under Olaf’s loose clothing. 

Cedric started at that, but spoke no word. 
He merely touched the dead face with his 
lips. “And now,” said the third giant, and 
his voice was terrible indeed, “we shall deal 
with thee, my pale-faced lad. Was there 
treasure hidden at Croysland?” 

Cedric nodded his golden head. 

“And Olaf found it?” 


62 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


“No!’^ The boy’s voice spoke the one 
word proudly. 

‘‘Dost thou know where it is?” 

“Yes.” The pale face bent lower. 

“List, then,” said the harsh voice. “Tell 
us where it is; or lead us to it. No harm 
shall come to thee, that will I swear. And 
afterward thou shalt be put on board a 
vessel and carried to safety and plenty. 
Woman’s care shalt thou have, and gold and 
silver that will make thy future rich and 
great. But if thou best, thou Saxon 

whelp ” here the fierce voice broke, and 

the eyes gleamed, “thy death shall be no 
easy thing, I warrant thee. Speak up, lad, 
where?” 

Now, indeed, had come Cedric’s time of 
battle — the battle to be fought without 
shield or sword. Was the teaching of the 
old prior to be in vain? It was a terrific 
struggle. Before him stood those three cruel 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


63 


men, ready and eager for his death. The 
treasure hidden on the Island of Thorns 
might never be of use to the few monks 
who were yet alive; he was not even sure 
that they had survived the slaughter. If it 
lay with none to tend it, why not let these 
men have it? He needed it not nor desired 
it; but his weak body longed for rest and 
safety ! In that moment of doubt the mem- 
ory of the old prior came to him, and at the 
thought of woman’s care, his mother’s image 
rushed before him. Hal Fleetfoot had dared 
to die, had died to save him. All the others 
had faced death fearlessly, and now he had 
his chance to be brave and defend his honor. 

‘‘Speak, speak,” said the leader, touching 
his gleaming axe. “There was a treasure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Dost know where it is hidden?” 

“Yes.” 


“Where?” 


64 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


^‘That will I not tell thee! No; not if I 
should be cut to pieces. Never will I tell!’’ 

“Die, then, Saxon dog!” hissed one. The 
gleaming blade was raised, and, for the 
second time, death seemed sure to little Ced- 
ric. But again was he spared. A shout 
startled them. Others had tracked the blood, 
and were after Olaf’s booty. 

“Hide, hide!” muttered one of the three. 
“They’ll finish the Saxon whelp, and the dead 
tell no tales.” 

They fled into the forest, while the cries 
of the pursuers came on. For an instant 
Cedric watched them, then he sprang up. 
Love of life was strong in him ; his last 
chance had come! The three Danes were 
retracing their steps, the oncoming foe came 
almost from the same direction. 

The way back to Croysland lay open to 
him! With all the strength that remained 
in him, he would try to get back, and warn 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


65 


the monks, if, indeed, they were alive, or at 
the least lie down and die among them 
who had loved him so tenderly. 

With a hurried kiss of farewell to Olaf, he 
fled on. He knew that his little steps would 
not attract attention, while the steps of the 
mighty three could be so plainly heard; 
they might fight for the plunder — what cared 
he? He would save the rest if God gave him 
strength— save them as dear, brave Hal had 
tried to do. Oh ! God was good to give him, 
poor little lame Cedric, a chance at last to 
serve them who would have died for him ! 

On, on he ran. The lame leg dragged 
painfully, but he heeded it not. A miracu- 
lous power filled his body. His golden curls 
floated on the autumn wind, his panting 
breath came quicker and shorter, but on, on 
he went! When he was at last too weary 
to go further, he knelt down by a brook- 
side and drank feverishly ; then, covering his 


66 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


body with leaves, lay still and rested. When 
he was refreshed, he went on again ; stopping 
now and then, he gathered nuts and ate 
them as he ran. 

So, resting and running, the day passed. 
Night came, and in the darkness Cedric felt 
safer, and hastened his speed. The roar of 
wild animals broke the midnight silence. 
Eyes of hungry wolves glared at him from 
the bushes. He sang snatches of hymns to 
make his heart brave, and the beasts shrank 
back, as they might have done from one of 
God’s angels. 

Over the rough way that had taken Olaf 
and him five days to travel, the brave child 
went in a day and a night. Toward morn- 
ing he saw the glow of the still burning 
Abbey of Croysland. He had fied from fire 
and bloodshed, and fire and horror awaited 
him ; yet, with a glad heart, he felt as if he 
were nearing home. 


{ LofC. 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


67 


The monks who had remained on the 
Island of Thorns had escaped, and, after the 
departure of the Danes, had returned to the 
abbey and fought bravely to subdue the 
flames, and to save as much as was possible 
of the splendid structure. They succeeded in 
saving the greater part, and upon the morn- 
ing of Cedric’s return they were gathering 
the charred remains of the murdered fathers, 
for burial. 

Sorely were they weeping over their task, 
when Cedric rushed in upon them. They 
paused in their mournful labor, gazed upon 
him, and then fell upon their knees, crossing 
themselves, and calling upon the saints. 
For they thought that they beheld a vision. 

Cedric could not speak for a moment, and 
his white face, framed in his golden hair, 
seemed indeed unearthly in the dim morning 
light. “The treasures!” he gasped, at last; 
“save them, for the Danes will come again.” 


68 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


Then did the monks realize that he spoke 
to them in the body, and they fell at those 
little tired feet, kissed the rags of his cloth- 
ing, and gathered him in their arms. 

‘‘Hide yourselves, hide me,” sobbed Cedric; 
“I can do no more.” 

A great roaring sound filled the boy’s ears, 
a dense blackness covered the faces clustering 
about him, and Cedric knew nothing further. 
When he awoke, an eternity seemed to have 
passed. He lay in the arms of Brother Am- 
brose, the dwarf. They were in an under- 
ground vault. Beside the narrow couch 
upon which he rested was a small table, 
upon which stood bread and wine. 

Cedric felt feebly for the chain about his 
neck ; it was there, and the two rings— Olaf’s 
and his own— upon it! 

“All’s safe,” wheezed Ambrose, who seemed 
to have suffered from exposure. “Thou 
earnest in time, son.” 



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CEDRIC THE SAXON 


69 


Cedric tried to speak, but only succeeded 
in whispering: ‘‘I thought that thou wast 
killed, brother.” 

‘‘Not I!” laughed the old man. The sound 
cheered the boy. He had almost forgotten 
that any one could laugh. 

“I had a narrow escape,” Ambrose went 
on, — “what one might call a merry squeeze. 
I was on duty at the gates that night that 
the Danish fiends paid us their first visit. 
And, seeing that they were eager to get in, 
I politely let slip the locks when the mass 
of them were pressing most unmannerly. 
Thou shouldst have seen them plunge in, one 
on top of his neighbor. Heigho I but it was 
a rare sight. The gate went back with a 
slam and Brother Ambrose was wedged safe 
and fast behind his own bars.” 

“And then? what then, brother?” broke in 
Cedric’s weak voice. 

“Ah! well, a man must have his little joke, 


70 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


say I, even in the face of death. So I lay 
low among the vines and tree roots, and 
when the first mad rush was over, I put 
my hand and arm through the bars, down 
close to the ground, and every leg that came 
near enough I grappled. Many a Dane bit 
the dust in the darkness, with a brother 
rogue a^top of him. And it was a blessed 
sound to hear them curse their luck and the 
tree roots. Aye, but I had my little play 
before the horror came.’^ 

Cedric tried to clap his hands, but they 
fell limply apart. ‘‘Thou art so jolly,” he 
sighed. “But they came again afterward?” 
he asked. 

“Aye, and they did, the knaves; but they 
had their trip for naught. Thou didst out- 
run them, son,” and a tear glistened in 
Ambrose’s dim eyes. “Such a little, weak 
lad, and yet so brave!” 


“Have they gone, brother?” 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


71 


^‘Oh, aye, aye— and alive, bad luck to 
them ! We dared not fling rocks or spears. 
Taking all in consideration, we let them 
think us dead. We crept in under the smok- 
ing ruins, and hid in the vaults. We were 
too much for them the second time.” 

Cedric gave a sigh of relief; and Ambrose 
rambled on; ^‘Had I my way, lad, I’d make 
thee abbot, that I would, with long, trailing 
robe and all the rest.” 

Cedric laughed aloud, and the sound 
pleased Ambrose mightily: 

‘‘Hark thee,” he said. “After the Danes 
left for the second time, the monks who had 
escaped at Huntingdon came— they are with 
us now. Soon we will rebuild the abbey, 
part still remains, and then shalt thou 
stand at the gates as of yore. Dost remem- 
ber the gray mantle, son? That was a trick, 
and a good one.” 

The smile fled from Cedric’s face. “But 


72 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


there will be no Hal Fleetfoot to watch for 
now, brother. Oh! what shall I do?^’ 

The long pent-up tears gave way. And 
that was the very best thing that could 
have happened to little Cedric. He wept 
himself to sleep, and when he awoke he was 
refreshed and comforted, and they who 
watched beside him knew that he would 
live. 

Of course there were dark days ahead- 
days full of painful toil and desolate heart- 
ache for all; but they worked manfully and 
courageously, and in the end rebuilt their 
abbey and continued their peaceful lives. 

The firelight fiickers and fades away. The 
gentle fingers, which have led me so patiently 
through the half-forgotten paths of that 
ancient time, slip from mine. I can follow 
thee, little Saxon Cedric, no further. I wish 
that I might know that, at some future time 
in thy life, the lonely Danish boy, for whose 


CEDRIC THE SAXON 


73 


dear sake thy brave life was spared, could 
have come within the safe shelter of thy 
love, and that thou hadst fulfilled the dying 
wish of Olaf, thy friend. 

But the old history contains no other 
mention of thy name, though I have 

searched patiently and long. 

* * **** ** 
And so I leave him as I found him, stand- 
ing by the vine-covered gateway, his little 
hands outstretched in generous welcome, giv- 
ing freely in the memory of one for whom 
he watched in the past, but who will not 
come again. 

Fare thee well, my little Saxon boy of long 
ago. That dark time was brighter because 
of thy pure life. I trust that thy days were 
many and happy among the grateful hearts 
who, but for thee, might never have known 
the blessedness of the more peaceful days. 


THE END 







1 





M)G 22 1901 







